


She's Our Film Noir Wet Dream

by Not_You



Category: Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Masturbation, Rule 63, Sexual Fantasy, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Laurie jerks off while thinking about Rorschach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's Our Film Noir Wet Dream

A large part of it is that she totally hates him. It's less sick than it sounds, really. As the Spectre, dressed more subtly but just as much like a whore as his mother, he's already met quite a few interested women, even though he's still jailbait. Sleazy villainesses who try to drown him in cleavage, entirely too grateful near-victims of crime, and fans, running up to him with their little autograph books. So Rorschach is a nice break. She really does seem to consider him a not very bright little boy out past his bedtime in silly clothes, and galling as it can be, it's refreshing.

He's pretty sure she's ugly under there. Just something about the mask and the way it doesn't even try to look like a face. The bones it stretches over are sharp, decided, but refuse to coalesce into even a suggestion of the woman behind the mask, and now, flat on his back on a lazy summer afternoon, Laurie doesn't bother trying. Just imagines that light weight on him, maybe a hundred and ten pounds, and only that much from wiry muscle. He's studied her body more than she would ever be comfortable with, and he shivers as he grips himself, imagining that it's night, and that's she's come crawling through his window to tell him that she has seen him watching, and that she does mind, wine-red coat spilling out around them as she pins him to the bed. He figures she'd tie him to the headboard, first. Produce a coil of rope from nowhere and truss him up painfully tight. He's good at escapism and knots, but he has the feeling Rorschach could keep him right where she wanted him.

He whimpers a little, thinking of those merciless black gloves and how soft they much be, one pressed to his mouth to keep him quiet, pressing hard enough to bruise his lips against his teeth. She'd lean in right by his ear, and murmur in that dark voice of hers, low, through the latex. She'd tell him all about how filthy he is, how just because the whore who whelped him wore a mask doesn't mean he has what it takes, that he's a pervert, a voyeur, and should be punished. Laurie's grip becomes Rorschach's, brutal and rough, twisting slightly and making him squirm. He pants, and thinks about how he'd fight the rope, he would struggle to breathe and finally shake his head free of her hand, not making a sound except for labored breathing. He might still be able to wrap one leg around her and force her down, nipping the edge of her mask with his teeth, yanking it up and kissing that angry mouth full of insults, devouring her even as her grip tightens almost, almost too much to feel good.

Laurie has to roll over and sink his teeth into the pillow to muffle a groan, coming harder than he ever has in his life. It seems to take a long time to stop, and he whimpers, panting. Jesus. Well, it's not like he didn't know he was a freak. Laurie laughs, and gets up to change his sheets, reminding himself to do this in the freaking shower next time, never able to fully contain the mess. Remaking the bed, he ponders having Rorschach be the one tied up, and grins.


End file.
